


Prompt No.2 - Explosion

by orphan_account



Series: Hamilton Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Vomiting, Whumptober 2019, relationship can be seen as platonic or romantic its up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When on the battlefield returning fire, one moment, Alexander was looking into John's eyes, and the next, he is face-down in the dirt, the world ringing and white around him.For Whumptober 2019Prompt No.2 - Explosion





	Prompt No.2 - Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> "What's your name, man?"
> 
> Not Lin Manuel Miranda, unfortunately, so this doesn't belong to me. Sad times. I wish I was that cool.

“You need to go!” John shouted over the hellish fanfare of British fire. He wove between the trees where patriot soldiers hunkered behind the thick trunks and underbrush. Beneath their boots, the earth trembled with every heaving blast of the cannons. The low sinking sun obscured the fields surrounding them in fuzzy grey shadows, a mist from the evening chill pirouetting with the wind. British infantry swarmed like bees, flying into firing lines. John cursed and, glaring at Alexander, ordered, “We need more supplies! You must go!”

Alexander raced after him, hot on his heels. “Are you not his aide as well? You can go instead!”

“Do not test me, Alexander!” John snapped. He continued his clipped pace, long legs taking longer strides than Alexander could keep up with. “For once, this is not a debate! Now go!”

“I can command the men!” Alexander nearly tripped over a sharpshooter sprawled on his stomach. “I am fully capable!”

John stopped. Alexander nearly smacked into his back. With a thunderous voice louder than the spitting gunfire, John threw his arm up and shouted, “Take aim!”

The metrical click of hundreds of rifles and muskets cracked in Alexander’s ears. The British crouched before them in their firing ranks, the muffled shouts of their commanders echoing across the dry field. Alexander blinked up at John as the man threw his arm down. “Fire!”

The pops of gunfire ripped through the quiet forest. Dozens of British soldiers whipped backwards, knocked off their feet, collapsing to the hard-packed dirt below. A weak smile graced John’s lips before he turned back to Alexander with a stern gaze. “Have you ever even commanded men? My dear friend, I was a solider in the south for some time; I know my place.”

Alexander held his head high. “I can learn.”

“Alexander,” John lightly held his shoulders, resting the length of his upper arms briefly, as if he were shielding him from the cold of war. “Your power is in your words, dear Alexander, whereas my power lies here, on the battlefield.” John’s hands fell to his side. A softened breath of air lightened his previously tight expression. “You _ must _go to Washington, alert him of our doings here, and--”

“Cannonfire!”

John’s eyes blew wide. He opened his mouth, saying a syllable, maybe two, but Alexander could only focus on the low burn of the sunset reflected in his eyes, the glassy flashes of igniting powder and sparking debris, a myriad of fiery color as the screaming soldier’s warning finally achieved coherency. A second ticked by, inching slower than Alexander’s thoughts could process, yet whipping by before he could breathe. He reached out for John--

The world flipped.

Alexander’s stomach flew into his throat. He twisted midair, flung like a rag doll, smacking hard against the ground.

“_ \--! _”

A deflated wheeze slipped past his lips. “J’hn…” Alexander slurred. The world was deaf to his ears.

“_ ‘lex--r--! _”

Face-down in the dirt, Alexander tasted mud on his tongue. “Jo--_ ’ohn... _ ” The crunch of the sand intermingled with the tang of blood; a disgusting concoction that made his stomach roll. He couldn’t move. His body was numb. “ _ John! _” He peeled his eyes open to John’s smudged features.

“I--’ere! Th--God--’wake--! ‘ou--’ght?”

Black dots spattered his vision like stars, curling darkness flooding the edges, obscuring his periphery. He felt a slight push to the pulse point in his neck - John’s fingers, he realized sluggishly - and grit his teeth as he began to feel an aching fire working throughout his system. His nerves sang, alight with hot pain. A hollow throb in his skull rocked his body. His heartbeat rushed under his ribs, hammering, fluttering madly. He fumbled boneless in the dirt, hands scraping in the filth to arrange themselves under his shoulders.

“Let m--’elp!” John’s muted voice stalled Alexander’s attempts. Alexander sagged where he lay on his stomach, breathing carefully, as if his body would snap under any unwarranted pressure. Sweat rolled down the dip of his nose, tasting of blood. Or was it blood, then?

The fingers at his throat disappeared, and elbows hooked themselves under his arms. Mumbling swam through Alexander’s ears, muted as if he were underwater. For a moment, he felt nothing, numb again, eyes closed, breaths slow.

The world snapped back into place.

His ribs ground together as John hauled him upright, dragging him to his feet. Alexander heard himself scream, wailing something incoherent, as John straightened Alexander out flat against his chest. He felt John’s arm bracket across his shoulders as the man slowly began guiding Alexander sideways towards the treeline. John was whispering something to Alexander, his lips pressed close to the shell of Alexander’s ear, but the ringing swallowed John’s voice whole.

Alexander blinked blearily. He coughed on blood, blood on his tongue, in his mouth, a acrid taste, as he tried to right his vision and make out his surroundings. In the dark of the night, the world blurred in-and-out of focus, waning dangerously as he nearly tripped over John’s foot.

The forest was ripped apart, trees snapped like kindling. Giant craters swallowed the earth in straight lines where the cannonballs barreled by. Severed limbs and parts decorated the battlefield, gooey, drooling black blood and marrow as fluids dribbled from the cut points. The bodies still in tact were twisted at unnatural angles, mouths hinged open in silent screams.

If Alexander felt nauseated earlier, he nearly pitched forward with the need to vomit.

John’s fingers tightened on the lapels of Alexander’s coat at Alexander’s quickened breath. His chest hitched against Alexander’s back as he maneuvered them against a tree trunk. Against his ear, John asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Alexander swallowed thickly. Saliva pooled in his mouth. His gut churned. The pounding in his head doubled at the sights of the bodies scattered before him. He turned his chin. “What happened?”

“Cannonfire.” John said. “You went flying. I thought you dead…”

Alexander mumbled, “I was awake the entire time.” He swallowed again. And again.

“You weren’t.” John tightened his grip on Alexander. “No, you stopped moving, Alexander. For the minutes I tried to get to your side, you were unconscious.”

Alexander blinked slowly, swallowing. His ears were still ringing. “Cannonfire…” The word tasted metallic on his tongue. “When--” Something dripped into his mouth. Sweat? No, blood. It wasn’t sweat? His hand rushed up jerkily, still uncoordinated, and swiped at his upper lip. “Am I bleeding.”

John released him and pivoted Alexander by the shoulders. The world careened. “Indeed. From your head,” He brushed the loose strands of hair from Alexander’s forehead. “And your nose. Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Alexander sniffled. “I...” He choked on the bile rising in his throat. “I...am going to be sick.”

John’s eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

“Move.” Alexander shoved John sideways before losing his stomach. The burn of vomit stung his blood-clogged nose and fogged his already hammering skull. He coughed up more, spattering some on his boots no doubt, one hand wrenched in the material of John’s shirt, the other held tightly in John’s grip.

John hummed, “Easy. Steady, man.” He helped Alexander upright, and Alexander swayed briefly. “Feeling refreshed?”

Alexander gagged. “Never better.” He glanced around John at the still-strong line of British soldiers. Propped behind their firing squad, a giant cannon rolled on rickety wheels as the men struggled to reload quickly. Alexander released his white-knuckled grip on John’s jacket, holding John’s _ hand _, and straightened himself awkwardly. “I...apologize. I’m a bit faint.”

“Apologies are unnecessary, Alexander.” He pulled his flintlock from where it rested in his hip holster. “Are you ready?” Alexander glanced up at John quizzically. John grinned, “I will teach you to command. Now is a better time than later, I suppose.”

\--

“How are you faring?” John ducked under the tent flap of Alexander’s rather pathetic camp abode. His eyes danced over the writing desk and lonely cot that Alexander had found himself sitting on, dozing for nearly an hour now. He realized he must look foolish to John, what with bandages wrapped snug around his head, and an over-sized shirt slipping off his right shoulder. Nonetheless, he nodded. He was too tired, and far too much in pain, to find it in himself to be embarrassed.

John sagged with relief. “Good. I could not bear to lose my closest friend to something as meager as a head wound.”

Alexander shrugged. “Ah, well, I may die yet.” John’s face twisted up, horrified, and Alexander gestured to his chest with a sheepish grin “A broken rib, says the doctor. If I am not careful, I will stab my own lung. Could you imagine? How cathartic.”

“I see no catharsis in such a death, Alexander. Are you mad?” John frowned.

Alexander’s head remained fogged, even hours after his near-death experience. “Ah, perhaps.”

John settled down on the opposite side of the cot, a hand dropping down to Alexander’s knee. “I beg of you, be careful, Alexander.”

“I plan to, John. I do not wish to die, contrary to my usual traipsing on the battlefield.” Alexander smiled softly. “I am lucky, though. The doctor was surprised I had only minor injuries for such an event.”

“As am I.” John’s fingers squeezed the bone of Alexander’s knee almost absently, his gaze far in thought. “I thought you were dead, and it...it...I have never experienced such _ fear _ before.” Alexander listened carefully, watching as John’s throat bobbed, working through the tears that glistened in his eyes. “I do not think myself to be overtaken by emotion so easily, Alexander, but seeing you... _ unmoving _; I cannot handle that again.”

Alexander hummed in understanding. He desperately searched his mind for something soft to say, something sweet and reassuring, but instead he dipped his chin. “But...we are at war.”

“I am no fool, my friend,” John smiled bitterly. “I know this well. However, am I not allowed to voice my fears? If not to my deepest friend, then whom?”

“No.” Alexander wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him close. “No, you are always welcome to speak your ills to me, John. I am just...:” He took a breath. “I apologize for the morbidity.”

A laugh bubbled up John’s throat. “You needn’t ever apologize to me, Alexander. You could never do anything warranting an apology to me.”

“But I wish to.” Alexander’s head bumped against John’s. He watched as the candlelight danced across the wall of the tent, flashing shadows over the canvas, dark and eerie. A shudder worked through Alexander’s spine as he whispered, “I do not want to die. But, moreover, I do not want _ you _ to die. You, nor Lafayette, nor Mulligan, nor any of our friends. I want to start this new world, this new _ America _, with you at my side. As free men.”

John nestled his forehead against Alexander’s hair. “God, I pray that happen soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thanks for joining me with day two! I had fun writing this, especially since it's from the whumpee's POV. I rarely do that, and usually write from a bystander's POV. So this was a fun change of pace!
> 
> Again, check out "Pray", my other work! I'll be updating shortly I'm sure, as soon as school stops riding my ass...
> 
> OH! And sorry if there is a dumb mistake or plot confusion, I'll fix it if you tell me. I changed the story's direction midway through and since I just glance over these things, I'm not sure if I fixed it well enough or not...


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